


Red River

by SignificantlySimon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Wakes & Funerals, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignificantlySimon/pseuds/SignificantlySimon
Summary: Accounts of the war tell that the river ran red after the battle of Myrddin with the blood of the fallen, that there were no survivors from the Imperial army. General Aegir's death was preventable in every sense of the word but none spoke out against it, not even the General himself.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	Red River

**Author's Note:**

> 3/31 marks the day that the Gread Bridge of Myrddin falls in an Azure Moon run. My angst loving self had to jump on board with this idea. Hubert is slightly out of character, then again wouldn't you be too if you just lost the only person who truly ever loved you?

**28 Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1185**

Ferdinand von Aegir lays on his side facing his lover in a bedroom that is certainly not his own. He smiles as his partner takes a lock of his long, auburn hair and twirls it between fingers that have been rendered necrotic-looking by years upon years of some of the darkest magic known to man. It is an odd sight, much like seeing life hold hands with death. He smiles nonetheless and grasps his partner’s wrist gently.

“Have you received your next assignment yet?”

“I have,” Ferdinand replies. “Myrddin. Rumor has it that a small sect of the Kingdom army is being sent to take it.”

The silence that covers them after Ferdinand speaks is heavy and thick. It suffocates them and threatens to break the conversation then and there. They both know the truth about this battle despite the rumors that have circulated about Enbarr.

“Hubert,” he breathes. “I may very well die. Despite what I have been told about this fight, I know that it isn’t just a small piece of the army. Dimitri is marching with them and with him comes the professor and-”

“Hush, love,” Hubert tells him. He debates on making empty promises of this and that when the war had ended but with the return of the professor came a landslide. With the sword of the creator came the win. Instead of holding him and whispering false words of encouragement, Hubert takes the signet ring off of his little finger and offers it to him in silence.

“I’m sure you know how much this ring means to me, my dearest. Take it with you tomorrow morning.”

Hubert sees hesitation in his eyes before he reaches for it and tries its fit on his own little finger. There, he finds it too loose so he quickly switches out the ring to the fourth finger of his left hand. He chuckles and debates on some sly remark but foregoes it.

“I feel that I should give you something in return,” Ferdinand tells him.

“Your love is enough,” Hubert assures. “More than enough.”

Ferdinand settles close in his arms, chest to chest and skin on skin. He hums his acknowledgment and closes his eyes. For now, he is safe and warm in the arms of someone who adores each and every piece of him.

That night neither of them dream.

The next morning when Hubert stirs from his sleep, Ferdinand is already awake and dressed. He sits at the vanity in the corner brushing the tangles from his hair. The faintest hint of dawn shines through the curtains and onto him. When Hubert sits up, Ferdinand turns around at the sound and smiles at him; true, genuine and bright and warm as the summer sun. He bids him good morning with that smile and for a moment Hubert fears that this will be the last time he sees it.

He pulls himself out of bed, the chill sending a shiver tearing through him. When it subsides, he makes his way to his wardrobe and dresses. He is fastening his cufflinks when he feels well-toned arms wrap around his chest.

“Do you still plan to see me off this morning?” Ferdinand asks him.

“I do. Hand me my jacket, would you?”

And Ferdinand does. He hands it over with a quick kiss as payment. Hubert smiles as he pulls it over his shoulders and decides to leave it open over his vest for today.

The walk to the stables is too long and not long enough at the same time. For the first time in his life, Hubert grasps Ferdinand’s hand tightly as they walk in silence. The weather has yet to break fully but Ferdinand points out the faintest hint of springtime buds on the trees in the Palace gardens. Ferdinand holds onto him tightly for the first time in their lives knowing far too well that this is the last chance he has to do so. Neither of them care about the glances of disapproval and snickers they receive from those running about and readying for the battle ahead.

Hubert takes every word that his love says and locks it safely away in his memory. He looks into amber eyes and basks in the light they bring. Hubert wants nothing more than to reach out and take Ferdinand into his arms until this all passes, to hold him until the war is over and all they dreamed is laying in a crumpled heap at their feet. They could reinvent themselves. They could go into hiding, fake their deaths and give themselves new names and new identities.

However, Hubert knows all too well that those thoughts can never come into the light as orders are orders. So he stands by and watches as Ferdinand mounts his steed and gives her a loving pat on her neck. He whispers something to the horse and she whinnies in response. He smiles one last time at Hubert and leans down as he approaches slowly. Ferdinand holds Hubert’s cheek in a gloved hand and kisses his forehead.

“I love you,” he says loud enough for the stable hand to hear. “I’ll see you soon.”

Hubert steps back and watches as Ferdinand rides off, auburn hair bouncing in time with the trotting of the horse.

“I love you too,” Hubert whispers.

Three days later Hubert receives word that Myrddin has fallen. 

He is seated for supper across the table from his Lady and barely notices the full glass of wine she throws at the wall. He places his fork and knife on the plate in front of him and promptly excuses himself to his chambers without hazarding a glance.

Myrddin has fallen.

He walks swiftly as his legs can carry him until he feels himself running across the palace at full speed. Nothing seems coherent. His mind is blank and he feels as if he’s watching himself from above. He’s floating, somewhere out of his body as he throws open his bedroom door and hurriedly locks it behind himself.

Myrddin has fallen.

He frantically looks about the room for something, anything. Some trace of Ferdinand still being there but the sheets are still made and Ferdinand’s boots are where they should be. Hubert forces himself to walk forward and draw the curtains closed. He hesitates then rescinds his decision and ties them back open. Ferdinand always wants them open. He’ll want them open when he comes home.

He looks over the bedroom one last time and notices no trace of his lover having been there. It is here that he crumbles. His knees buckle and send him to the floor rather violently. His left knee throbs in pain but he doesn’t feel hurt. He feels absolutely nothing. In the midst of this haze, Hubert unfastens his jacket and throws it somewhere to his right. It lands in a sorry heap on the hardwood floor.

Myrddin has fallen.

He struggles to catch his breath. It feels as if the entire weight of the world is over him and it is too much, far too much. He places his head in his hands and covers his face. This all feels too new, too unfamiliar. This has never happened. He foregoes attempting to collect himself and pulls violently at his hair for some unknown reason. He scratches at his skin until it is red and raw underneath his expensive linen dress shirt.

It's here that the full weight of the situation hits him. It knocks the wind out of him even more so.

 _Ferdinand has_ fallen.

Hubert lets his tears fall. He sobs uncontrollably into his hands and makes no attempt to steady himself. He loses track of time and meetings and everything he needs to attend to after supper and he forgets it. He’s spent his entire life devoted to his lady that he completely had forgotten to attend to what needed him the most. He had the power to swap Ferdinand out for someone else. He could have kept him alive. He could have still been-

Hubert hears the door open and in the midst of his unstable mind, he prays that it is the very man who has just been proclaimed dead.

But it isn’t. It is Dorothea and with her, she brings a temporary solace, comfort even. She sits next to him and doesn’t hush him. She allows him time to grieve before she even thinks of speaking. When she opens her mouth, it is not to chastise him for missed meetings and unfinished supper. She opens her mouth and out falls choked words of an apology.

“I never knew how much he meant to you,” she tells him.

Hubert doesn’t respond but he takes the handkerchief she offers him and scrubs at his irritated eyes. He holds the white cloth in his hands with a grip like a vice.

“They brought him back,” she tells him. “And they handed me these to give to you.”

Hubert takes the items that she gives him and he focuses on the things that feel far too heavy in his hands for what they are, a crumpled letter and his own signet ring that he gave to Ferdinand some days ago.

“When they handed me your ring I-... I didn’t know what to think,” Dorothea whispers. “The letter is unopened. It's addressed to you in his handwriting. Found it in the breast pocket of his vest. If you need anything else, Hubert. Anything at all, come get me. I’ll be there for you tomorrow too.”

He thanks her and watches as she leaves. He thinks for a moment that he locked the door and questions just how she entered. Nevertheless, he pulls himself up off the floor and sits on the edge of the bed. He replaces his ring where it belongs, on his little finger and debates on how morbid it is to see it there again.

He flicks open the wax seal on the letter and begins to read but it all feels too much. He folds it and places it on his nightstand.

The rest of the evening is a blur, a sleepless night filled with what if and what-could-have-been. A broken dream, shattered in his hand and blown away with the gentle breeze of the coming spring. When dawn breaks the darkness in his bedroom, Hubert rises from bed and dresses in all black. He shines his best shoes and fixes his hair.

This is war. There is no time for a proper funeral.

Time be damned. Hubert will look his best to say goodbye to the man that loved him, the man who looked at a monster and melted him down, the man who looked at the scared child behind his hard shell and took him by the hand and into the light.

Hubert chuckles at his choice of gloves for a moment, black and the finest of leather. Ferdinand had an odd fascination with this particular pair. He supposed it was the softness of them.

A knock on the door breaks this chain of thoughts. He doesn’t respond and assumes its Dorothea much like yesterday. He realizes he is wrong, however, when Edelgard walks in the door with a tear-stained face to match his own. She pauses at the door and closes it behind herself. She hesitates further, attempting to search for some semblance of words for comfort. When she attempts to speak, her voice cracks and nothing but frantic cries come out.

“I’m so sorry,” she cries. “I could have done so much more.”

“We both could have,” Hubert replies. “We all could have but it all falls on me, Lady Edelgard.”

“This won’t happen again,” she promises but the look in her eyes tells Hubert that it will. “This can’t-”

“El. Please.”

She leaves after that, no further words but Hubert swears he hears a crash coming from the next room over, her bedroom, accompanied by a violent scream. He sighs. It is his duty as her retainer to go check on her but he doesn’t. He has no energy to extend to her. Not now, not anymore.

He exits his bedroom, turns left, and walks to the western wing of the palace alone. Before he enters the small ceremonial chapel, he is stopped by an armed guard.

“Marquis Vestra.” The guard at the door bows to him out of respect and Hubert returns the sentiment.

“Is General Aegir inside?”

“He is, sir. The undertaker just finished.”

“Do not let anyone else into this chapel until it is time. Do you understand me?” The venom in Hubert’s words is apparent and he doesn’t care. 

“Clearly, sir.”

When Hubert enters the chapel, he does so quietly and counts the echoes of the heels of his shoes on the marble flooring. He approaches the wooden coffin with care and reverence and sharply inhales when he catches a glimpse of Ferdinand’s face. He has to grab a hold of one of the chairs to steady himself before he continues walking.

He feels his legs start to tremble as he approaches further but he never removes his gaze from Ferdinand. His Ferdinand.

He kneels next to the coffin and takes in the sight before him. He has no words, no thoughts left. This is something he never thought he’d see despite knowing it was coming. Ferdinand lays reverently, left hand over right folded across his abdomen. His fingertips are slightly purple from the time between death and now and the settling of the blood in his body with the stopping of his heart. He thinks for a moment about how the color somewhat mirrors his own. He takes his own glove off and holds his hand. He is supernaturally cold. Despite this, Hubert produces his ring from the breast pocket of his vest and replaces it where it truly belongs, on the only finger it truly fits, his love’s left ring finger.

Once it is situated, Hubert places his ungloved hand on Ferdinand’s cheek and leans over the upper short side of the coffin. He presses their foreheads together and shuts his eyes as he swallows down tears. Ferdinand looks exactly as he remembers him.

Beautiful, peaceful even in the still, cold grip of death.

He whispers broken apologies and words of love but pulls back once he hears the doors of the chapel open. He stands and replaces his glove to see Caspar standing behind him. He is clad in black.

“They told us the river ran red yesterday,” he says. “No survivors.”

Hubert still can’t find proper words to say so he brings back his iron exterior that Ferdinand worked so hard to break away. He finds his seat as people filter in to pay their respects. He feels cold to his core as he watches the celebrant speak. He follows the proper motions of the people at a funeral but remembers none of it after he walks out of the chapel and follows the procession to the cemetery. He watches as they lower the closed coffin into the ground with ropes and stays long after the grave is filled. He feels as if he is betraying his love by leaving but he eventually manages to walk away.

This is the turning point of the war. He is now certain that everyone in and about this palace will die. So will he and when his turn comes, he vows to fight hard until the bitter end.

Bernadetta is next, at Gronder field. Then Linhardt and Caspar at Fort Merceus. He watches as Petra and Dorothea fall in front of him in Enbarr.

When his time comes, despite him being the last defense before the Kingdom reaches what is left of Lady Edelgard, he finds himself throwing the fight.

He is struck down on the palace steps and stepped over. As the Kingdom army rushes inside they celebrate his death.


End file.
